<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Left hanging by erasercloud</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152495">Left hanging</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/erasercloud/pseuds/erasercloud'>erasercloud</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Super Dangan Ronpa 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Gen, Graphic Description, Hanging, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nagito dies, Self-Hatred, Suffering Komaeda Nagito, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, nagito hates himself</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:14:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/erasercloud/pseuds/erasercloud</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nagito hangs himself and Hajime is the unlucky person to find him</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Left hanging</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"><span class="s1">A groan slipped past his chapped lips, the obnoxious noise awaking him from his peaceful sleep. Subconsciously, he reached his shaky hand out, slamming it down on the alarm, silencing it. The sudden deafening silence sent shivers running down his fragile spine, unsettling him. Reluctantly, he fluttered his eyelids open, glancing at the red numbers displayed on his ruptured alarm clock. </span> <strong><span class="s2">4:25. </span> </strong><span class="s1">He groaned silently, his eyes automatically fluttering closed. He didn't want to leave the condolence of his bed. He didn't want to move. It was like large ball of heavy metal was strapped onto his weak chest, paralyzing him. Knives buried into his scarred wrists, pinning him down. Every time he tried to move, the ball of steel would get heavier.... and the blades would dig in deeper.... He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on for... This miserable life was coming to a dark tunnel, with no way out, the end blocked off.... Everything was useless. The only way he know how to get rid of the pain, was something he had been delaying for months. But now.... he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He could no longer brush it off as his plan B. He need to leave. Urgently. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Sighing disheartedly, his tired eyes fluttered open once again, the dull orbs drained of all life, dancing around his despairing room. The curtains were still drawn, allowing none of the moonlight to enter his miserable bedroom. The only source of light were the small stars that peeked through the cracks. Beside the window was a shattered mirror, which made any reflection corrupt. Shards of the glass laid abandoned on the dusty floor, collecting all the dirt it had been laying on. The albino couldn't remember how it got broken. All he knew is it had been for a while. Around the dim room, were plates of uneaten food, which were slowly rotting away, the smell lingering and sticking onto every article of clothing he owned. The clothes that were tossed around his room in an unorderly way. However, majority of his clothes were stacked messily on top of an unused chair stashed away in corner of his room.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Using every frail muscle in his decaying body, he managed to fight against the mental restrains, able to sit himself up. That was a good start. Swinging his legs off the mattress, he was met with a cold tingling in his toes. He was touching the floor. Breathing heavily, he began to stand up- knees shaking and threatening to buckle. Why was it so hard? He should feel motivated. He would finally be at peace after all. Gulping down a lump in his throat, he strode towards the desk across his room, kicking used, bloody bandages out of his way. Feet trampling over bloodstains. Band-Aids sticking onto the bottom of his heel. Trying not to distract himself, he slowly pulled the chair out from under the desk, listening to the violent screech of the metal chair leg scraping against his floor. Holding back the bone rattling shiver, he slowly sat down, trying to ground his dangerous thoughts. Ah! In the top draw.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Nodding to himself, he reached towards his trembling hands to the handle of the top draw. Through this whole time he felt no emotions, blank. Numb. His heart and brain robbed of any feelings. It felt like his body was on autopilot, not being able to change anything his body was doing. Gentle fingers scoped out smooth sheets of paper, with delicate writing on the lines. A pile around 15cms high. Letting the sheets glide onto the rotting wood, he began reading through one. He spent his free tie writing suicide notes upon suicide notes. They didn't change much, however the tones would change from happy, to angry, to depressed... So which one would he choose? Perhaps the one where he explain all his actions and what he had been through? No- too much pity. Maybe the one were he cussed out everyone for being a dick to him? No- this wasn't anyone's fault but his own. So maybe the one where he confesses his love to Hajime- fuck no, he couldn't put that pressure onto him like that... Maybe the plain, 'I'm sorry that I left but you can all be happy now' type. Sighing, he gathered the unused notes and stuffed them into the draw. He wasn't worried about them looking through his stuff because... well... none of them cared enough.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Leaving the goodbye note stranded on his crowded desk, he dragged the metal chain across the scratched floor until it reached the middle of his room. Shaking his head tiredly, he imagined what it would be like to be dead... would he be at peace, or would this all be for nothing? Would it be painful...? What was he thinking- of course it would be painful, but after pain comes peace and relief. All he had to do was endure that pain for a little while. Nothing his feeble little body couldn't stand. After all, if he couldn’t even kill himself, what good was he?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Dragging his aching feet across the floor, he made his way to the second draw. A shaky hand gripped the handle and slowly pulled it open, listening to the creak of the hinges. In the draw laid many things... a bloodstained blade, unused bandages, scissors and sharpeners. and the noose. He had practised tying it many times before, so he would get it perfect. The rope was fraying slightly, but still held together. It felt heavy in his pale hands. Soon it will be over.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Making his way back to the chair, he listened to the soft thuds of the rope being dragged across the floor. No emotions. No feelings. Not even a sense of relaxation, knowing his pain will be all over soon. Just nothing. A blank canvas waiting to be painted on by grief and pain.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">Taking deep, reassuring breaths, he mounted the chair with his knees threatening to buckle, rope still in his firm grasp. </span>His bony knees shook, cracking together as the realisation finally hit. this was reality- this was actually happening. Its not like anyone will miss him. No one would even notice his disappearance. Attaching the noose onto his ceiling fan, his breath hitched, a small pit of doubt burying into his stomach. Delicate fingers trailed down the rough fabric, falling down onto the loop, which hovered in front of his face. Every passing second was a moment closer to death. His grip tightened on the loop of the rope, his knuckles turning white. almost not wanting to let go. He had to do this. No more pain. </p><p class="p2">Slowly, he began glancing around his desolate room, feeling tears form in his dull eyes. After realising no one was here to save him, he turned his attention back to the noose, watching it swing tauntingly. The albino swallowed a lump in his throat, slowly slipping his head through the loop. He could feel the scratchy material resting against his thin neck, irritating his skin. The loose stands prodded into his neck and created small indents. </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Glancing around the dark room once again, he took note of everything, taking deep breaths. He would die here... the last thing he would see is this room. He just begged his stupid luck didn’t get in the way. Numb eyes locked onto his  letter. </span> <span class="s1">Before he could stall any longer, he quickly kicked the metal chair again, his body weight dropping onto the rope. The chair clashed down with a loud bang, accompanied by the choked scream.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Almost as a reflex, his skinny legs began kicking around, trying to stand on something. Anything. His fingers clawed at the rope, trying to tear it off. The immense pain poured into his body. chokes of air squeezed out from his throat, but to no avail. He was suffocating. regret set in, alarms in his brain telling him to fight to survive. He couldnt. He prayed this was another dream. His luck would set in. He would be freed of this torturous feeling. All he could think about was living, as tears flowed down his tingling cheeks. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to live. Nagitos vision began to blur, from the copious amount of tears, or because he was loosing concious, couldn’t tell as his body stopped fighting against the strangling feeling. No. He didn't want it to end like this. Why didn't he ask for help? Why did he do this? This was a cowards path. It hurt so much. Every second the intense pain got worse. The burning in his chest. His throat hurt, in the most excruciating pain. Even if he tried to scream for help, all that came out were raspy.... scratchy... silent... begs....  He wanted the pain to be over. He felt his eyelids beginning to get heavy, and his jaw got unusually tense. He was dying.... and no one was around to save him. Hajime! Please hear me Hajime! Hear my suffering, silent screams for help. He hoped someone had heard the noise of the chair.. but no one came....no one cared. It was Komaeda after all. All his limbs felt numb and like they weren’t attached to his body. Cold. Lifeless. The only warm thing he felt, was the feeling of is own urine trickling down his numb leg as his vision got darker, as his body felt lighter. He felt his body relax, every muscle in his body soothing. One of the last things he felt was his bowls emptying, before feeling regret. He was dying.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">Days had passed and there was no sign of nagito. No indications of him suddenly missing, and that frightened everyone. Everyone was just waiting to open a door to find the albinos dead body behind it, already accusing each other of who did it... well, everyone besides a certain brunette. Said brunette begged nagito to be alive... that he was safe and hiding somewhere... or perhaps sick in his cabin? He had to be alive. As much as Hajime found Nagito crazy and frightening, he was his first friend... the first face he saw...</p><p class="p1">Hazel eyes glancing around the dinning hall, he let the spook full of cereal slid out of his fingers- splashing milk onto the table. He couldn’t eat anymore, not with that sickening pit in his stomach. The voice in his head screaming something wasn’t right. Shaking his head he stood up and dismissed himself from the diner silently. Fidgeting his fingers, he made his way towards the cabins, his breaks shaky and unsteady. Why hadn’t he done this sooner. Nagito will probably just be asleep or reading and him worrying would be for nothing.</p><p class="p1">Biting his lower lip, he stood firmly outside the wooden door... he prayed it wasn’t locked. Gripping the cold handle tightly, he twisted and pushed the door open with a loud creak.</p><p class="p1">”hey Nagito... I just wanted to check if you’re alright...” no answer. Peeking through the crack into the deep darkness of his room, he waited for a response, “Komaeda... are you in there?” He asked, managing to squeeze his head through the gap that he slowly opened wider. Desperate eyes scanned the room... before he saw it... the silhouette of someone hanging. Shaking his head he slammed his hand on the light switch- the dim light brightening the cold room.</p><p class="p1">Nagito hung their lifelessly, the chair knocked lifeless besides him. Hands which were as white as paper limp by his sides. His head was craned to the side slightly, rope fastened tightly around his pale throat. All colour that was left in his body has disappeared, leaving him a blank piece of paper. The only thing that looked alive was his facial expression. Dead eyes terrified and mouth curved into a pained frown. Sirens rang off as Hajime collapsed to the ground, shaking and convulsing. Tears streamed down his face as the images rang around his mind. He could feel his heart shattering into quarters, his breakfast threatening to come back up and spill out. No way was this real. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>